Page 82 of Another Lucky Number

Fixing my gaze on a point on the horizon, I take some deep breaths – resurrecting the self-help approach I used when I was having anxiety attacks after Dave dumped me. This helps a little, but I’m still a long way from being able to focus. Then I have an idea. I quickly slather on some sun cream, grab my notepad and pen, and make my way down to the water’s edge.

The moment my feet are immersed in the cool, clear water, the heat of my panic is extinguished. I wade in up to my knees, and the deeper I get, the more in control I feel. Within minutes, I’m capable of coherent thought, and I start to play with ideas in my mind, noting down the those that appeal the most.

Twenty minutes later, I’m back on my lounger, scribbling furiously. The content isn’t a problem once I get going, but I need as much time as possible to be confident presenting it. Every time I think about my impending audience, I feel nauseous – and also tempted to do a rain dance in the hope that a tropical storm materialises and we have to call the whole thing off. Who am I kidding? It’s a perfect cloudless day, and even if that were to happen, Amber would make damn sure to mobilise the troops somewhere indoors.Man, I hate her sometimes(in a really loving way).

By the time my friends return, I’m nowhere near ready to do this – but given that that time would benever, it’s probably irrelevant.

‘You all set?’ Amber gives me an encouraging nudge that nearly knocks me on my arse because I’m feeling so faint.

‘How about some water?’ says Cat. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky… and damp.’

‘No shit.’ I look at her glumly. ‘I think I’ve sweated out the entire water content of my body.’

‘It’ll be over really soon.’ She hands me a bottle of water and I take a sizeable glug.

I catch her giving Amber a look to move things along, and without warning Amber puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a loud piercing whistle. Then, like a scene fromThe Walking Dead, about two dozen people get to their feet and start moving in our direction. And I feel a crushing dread like I’ve never experienced before.

Watching the sea of people gather around us, some chatting and laughing while others are talking in hushed tones, I feel an urgent urge to take off up the beach towards my suite. But I know I have to see this through, so I fight it and focus on my breathing.

‘Hey, everyone,’ Amber greets them. ‘Thanks so much for agreeing to this. This is Emma… and as I said, she’s got a big interview coming up, so she’ll be presenting to you to get some practice in. She’ll talk for about ten minutes, then you’ll have the opportunity to ask her some questions.’

They’ll what?My face drains of any remaining colour. Amber didn’t mention there would be a Q&A session as well. No doubt on purpose, because she knew it would send me over the edge.

I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, when a calming hand makes contact with my waist, and Cat pulls me into a squeezy side-hug.

‘You’ve got this,’ she whispers in my ear as Amber says ‘Emma, you’re up’ and gestures for me to take ‘centre stage’.

After (too) long a pause, where I’m willing my body to move but it’s refusing to cooperate, I step forward on Bambi legs and smile weakly at my audience. Clearing my throat a couple of times while rustling my notes (more for the security of knowing that they’re there than anything else), I take a shuddering breath and let out what can only be described as a cross between a croak and a squeak.

Mortified at this being their first impression of me, I dare asweeping glance around my audience, expecting to see impatient, bored or amused faces, but all that’s reflected back at me are encouraging and interested looks.

‘Let’s give Emma some, shall we?’ a smiling grey-haired American woman wearing a pink sequined T-shirt calls out.

She starts to clap and whoop, and like a landslide, my whole audience joins in, creating quite a ruckus. They’re so enthusiastic that before I know it, I’ve joined in – until I realise that means I’m clapping for myself and I quickly drop my hands by my side, hoping nobody’s registered that moment of idiocy. I continue to smile at them though, hugely grateful for the support.

As the applause dies down, I know I’ve got to catch the moment and not to allow the tumbleweed to roll in again.

‘Ahem… thank you for that,’ I say. ‘Think it was needed. I’m also wondering if the lady who started that would like to take my place?’

There’s a collective chuckle, which almost takes the edge off my terror.

‘Sure, anytime,’ the American woman calls back to me.

‘OK, then…’ I look down at the sand to ground myself, then back up at the forty-odd eyes on me. ‘As you already know, I’m Emma, and I’m going to talk to you about the very important and enlightening subject of “If I ruled the world”.’

I pause briefly and look down at my notes.

‘The first thing I’d like to say is that, if I ruled the world, I’d definitely ban presentations at interviews…’

My audience laughs again, and I notice a couple of them giving each other approving nods. Feeling slightly more in control, I check my place and continue.

‘My friend Amber here, encouraged me to keep this subject light, and while there must have been plenty opportunity to get some jokes in, I discovered that I’m not funny… well, every day is a school day as they say…’

There’s a ripple of sympathetic amusement and a few more approving looks. Encouraged, I stand taller and keep going.

‘This means I’m going to address some of the bigger stuff, because I reckon most people would want to do that if they ruled the world. Right the wrongs, eradicate hunger, end conflicts, see that no child ever went to school hungry or had to walk miles every day for water, while missing out on an education. Jim Carrey certainly did.’

Briefly looking up at my audience, I see a mix of amused faces from those who have clocked theBruce Almightyreference and more sombre expressions from audience members who appear to be connecting with the bigger message in what I’m saying, some of them even nodding agreement. I continue my monologue for what feels like forever, and when I eventually wrap up, my onlookers break into yet more cheers and applause. And this time I feel like I’ve earned it. I smile back at them self-consciously, wondering why I can’t recall any of the last ten minutes, then a fresh dose of fear floods through me on remembering that the Q&A is next.

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